Underground
by ForbiddenDreams13
Summary: Kurama is sent to the catacombs in Paris to retrieve a cursed item. However as he travels through the dark, bone-lined tunnels the fox finds that he is far from alone. What's worse is the ghosts of Europe don't seem to play by the rules of Spirit World. Can Kurama escape with his life, or will he end up trapped, swallowed alive by the catacombs?


**Welcome back readers! It's been quite a while since I've dipped into this little pool hasn't it?**

 **Notes: This is the first time I've tried doing a fic like this, but I figure it's a good way to build a foundation in my favorite genre. Please feel free to offer as much constructive criticism once you reach the end as possible. Your input is appreciated.**

 **Extra Notes: For full experience, please imagine MrCreepypasta reading this to you. If you have never heard this name before, please go to YouTube and check him out.**

 **Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Yu Yu Hakusho is not mine.**

 **Disclaimer 2: This is no way inspired by As Above, So Below. Truth be told I couldn't stand that movie. No, I've always been fascinated by the Paris Underground, and have wanted to try something like this for a while.**

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Before I get started, I want to make one thing perfectly clear to whoever might read this: what is detailed below in this report is the absolute truth. Think of this as some sort of disclaimer; a viable, but no less truthful reasoning as to why I bungled the mission to which I was assigned. Don't get me wrong, I feel terrible for failing, but…after what I experienced down there…let's just say there's no way I'm ever going back to rectify my mistake. I mean, when you think about, for all of Spirit World's resources, they're confined in their knowledge to one section of the globe. The all-encompassing light of their rationale is but merely a single, feeble flame, all too easily snuffed out by the shadows of spirits lurking beyond Japan's silent shores. For all the trust they place in their reasoning, for all the statements Spirit World likes to make about how no matter what cloth it's cut from, every demon and every supernatural place is the same at its core, I offer this one chilling rebuttal:

I had been tasked to infiltrate the Paris Underground with orders to locate and retrieve a strange statue: a Maneki Neko that had been created with both paws hanging down. The artifact had first been discovered by monks amid the remains of a burned out temple where it sat in the center grounds, upright and unscathed. Believing this object to be the cause of the fire, the monks attempted to take it to the high priest in an effort to bless the statue. However, during their travels they were set upon by thieves who stole the artifact and almost immediately after were stricken with a terrible illness. It then found its way to the home of a young noble. Two weeks passed without incident until one morning, his body was found in the gardens, face frozen in terror with his throat torn open. His family and servants fled, hoping the artifact would rot along with the estate. For many years, the statue lay undisturbed until a couple years after the opening of the borders in 1844, when a merchant who had purchased and restored the decrepit manor discovered the object and sent it to some friends from Paris as a gift. After that the Maneki Neko preceded to bounce around from home to home before finally ending up at the Louvre Museum where it remained until the early twentieth century when a string of accidents involving several night guards posted near the statue's exhibit lead the curator to have it secretly removed and sealed in an undocumented location within the catacombs.

At any rate, once I had secured the necessary items for patrolling the Paris Underground which consisted of a flashlight, a talisman-lined bag in which I could store the Maneki Neko, a compass-like device which fed off malicious energy for tracking down the artifact, a variant Shakyamuni's Thread* (which was semi-luminescent and would extend as far as I needed it to; a valuable tool to have for being able to escape the catacombs), and a backpack to store everything, I set off for Paris. Let me just say that while the capital of France boasts its bright lights, Eiffel Tower and atmosphere of love to those across the world, that beauty is gritty at best. Honestly, it's like someone smeared a chunk of asphalt with a coat of body glitter.

I wandered around the city for a bit, looking for a good place to descend below the streets once the sun went down as well as gathering any additional information about the Underground. From what I already knew, the catacombs were a network of tunnels that sprawled beneath the crowded, noisy streets of Paris that date back to the era of the Romans. They gained their infamy during the eighteenth century when overcrowding in the cemeteries had started to become a major problem. Bodies were buried one atop the other in some graveyards while in others mass graves had been dug in order to cope with the problem. After the coffins began spilling their contents into the streets, it was decided that the bodies of the deceased be moved underground. Skulls atop skulls, femurs atop femurs, the limestone walls are lined with bones centuries old. However, my efforts to glean more information led me nowhere as no one wanted to speak to an outsider about such a subject.

Once night fell, I ducked into an alleyway where I was able to find a manhole cover. One swift lift of the metal lid later and I began my decent down the rusted ladder into the pool of shadows beneath the streets. A few moments later, my feet hit the stone floor with a small thump which was soon swallowed by the gaping, ebon maw at my back. The light from the city filtered in from above, but could pierce no further than a couple feet down. Standing there in pitch darkness, I could feel the weight of the city above me. I stared into the thick veil of black before me, fascinated by how I could get no sense of anything. The darkness had me cocooned within it. It pressed upon my vision like a thin layer of velvet; it swam in my nostrils, a thick, dusty smell that told of the age of my surroundings; it stuffed my ears full of silence. Down there, beneath all sources of light, far from the reaches of life, warmth, and safety, I felt the heavy aura of death around me, its timelessness, and its ever-onward march. Just how many people were down here? Scattered and entombed within these walls? How many curious explorers had met a gruesome fate, swallowed alive by the catacombs, never to be spat out again?

I shook my head to clear it. There would be time to ponder as I searched. Shrugging off the back pack, I fumbled around a bit before finding the zipper and pulling it back. A soft, pearl-colored light emerged from within the confines of cloth. Coiled beneath the flashlight lay Shakyamuni's Thread. I dug my hand into the backpack and pulled it out. I then preceded to tie the thread around the bottom rung of the ladder. Once I made sure the knot was secure, I brought out the flashlight and clicked it to life. The light blinded me for a minute, and when I was able to recover my vision, I was met with the sight of several black, soulless eyes gazing at me from the walls. I jumped back, fear piercing my heart with an icy needle. However, my fright was short-lived when I realized the 'eyes' were actually eye-sockets that belonged to the numerous skulls lining the walls. From floor to ceiling, rows of skulls leered at their neighbors across the tunnel, forever grinning. I took a deep breath in an attempt to slow my run-away heart. They were just remains. No matter how menacing my flashlight made them look, there wasn't anything there to threaten me. Pulling out the tracking device. I flicked the switch and it whirred to life. The needle danced in all directions before coming to rest atop the bottom lid of the red eye that sat where the n normally would be. Straight ahead. For now at least. I set the device on the ground for a moment, picked up the other end of the glowing spider thread and tied it to the zipper on the very front pocket of the backpack. Hansel and Gretel chose to mark their trail with breadcrumbs, but I'm a more intelligent creature. I had no need to worry about someone eating my trail.

After re-shouldering the backpack, I retrieved the compass and aimed my flashlight down the dank, death-lined corridor. A single, straight path beckoned. I tried to peer further down, but after having free reign for so long, the darkness wasn't about to let my light have its way. Only a few feet were visible. I sighed. I should have expected such. _Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,_ I thought; and keeping those words in mind I began my trek into the Paris Underground.

The echo of my footsteps was my only companion as I traversed the maze. From all sides, the shadows pressed in, writhing like a nest of inky snakes threatening to swallow the pool of light from my flashlight at any given moment. Every now and then, a chilly, sour puff of air would curl around my ankles, whispering its passage to me as it sailed over the stone floor. Along the way, I noticed that a few of the tunnels had flooded. The compass never pointed me down any of those to which I was grateful. Not only did the smell of the stagnant, murky water repulse me, I didn't want to contend with the rats I saw swimming around in it. I continued to traverse the labyrinth, taking note of the designs on the walls. It wasn't often, but every now and then the bones would be arranged in a cross or flower-shaped formation. Was this some sort of homage to those buried down here? An attempt to make light of their gruesome task, perhaps? Regardless, I pushed these questions to the back of my mind and strode onward, following the needle's steady guidance. The needle pointed me down many twists and turns; a left here, a right there, and so it went, time bleeding away beneath the earth until more than an hour had passed. I was starting to feel a bit concerned. Koenma had assured me that the compass was in tip-top shape, it had gone through rigorous testing and had been used in many missions before this. Still, that didn't mean it was completely bug-free.

I came upon an area where the tunnel diverged into two paths, one branching off to the right, and the other continuing forward. I glanced down at the compass to find the needle had shifted and was pointing down the passage that led right. Deciding that this would be a good place to test the validity of Koenma's word, I stuck my flashlight in my back pocket and began fiddling with the compass. I turned it on and off, angled it in multiple directions, even removed the back and messed with the mechanisms (few that there were), but despite my efforts to find even the smallest mistake, there were none. No matter what I did, the needle pointed stubbornly to the right. I sighed. Perhaps I had just decided to start my search a ways away from my prize. Besides, it wasn't like I had any reason to panic. If I was indeed being led on a wild goose chase, I would just follow the trail left by Shakyamuni's Thread and exit the catacombs no problem. I cast a glance over my shoulder and was met with the reassuring sight of a glowing white line trailing behind me. I had a way out, I would be fine.

As I turned to follow the branching path, my foot struck a small rock, launching it further down the main corridor. It sailed out of the flashlight's reach, making loud clattering sounds as it bounced around in the dark. Silence soon reclaimed the catacombs; thick and heavy like a wool quilt, it pressed in from all sides, stifling me with large ethereal hands. So complete was the noiseless black void around me that I couldn't even hear the plip of water dripping down from above. It was cold too, this silence, cold and dry like the inside of a freshly interred coffin. I directed my flashlight down the tunnel, but the light only stretched a few feet before dissolving against the steadfast wall of shadow. Frowning, I peered down that long, dark throat of bones. Nothing. The silence persisted, and the feeling of heaviness grew, coiling around my chest like a snake, constricting my ability to breathe. Something tugged at the back of my brain, some snatch of instinct that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. My stomach tightened and my palms began to sweat. Something wasn't right. It was as if could feel a pair of eyes watching me, leering at me from the darkness. Paranoia began to seep in between the cracks in logic's foundation. I glanced over my shoulder, but could see nothing.

A sudden rattling noise ripped apart the silence, shredding it like a bullet sailing through cloth.

I turned around just in time to see a small stone come bouncing back to meet me. It smacked the ground, where it took to rolling, stopping once it hit my shoe. Swallowing a sudden lump in my throat, I bent over and picked it up. It looked eerily similar to the one that I'd kicked earlier. I almost dropped it when I realized how warm it felt. As if someone had been holding it, rolling it around in their palm before throwing it down the corridor. _Just relax,_ I told myself, _there's no indication that it's the same rock. Maybe another one fell from above_ (even though it would have struck my head as opposed to being thrown back at me) _, or maybe there's a cataphile* further down the tunnel who threw it back_ (even though I hadn't heard anything that would signify the approach of another person) _._

A scrabbling sound drew my attention back down the tunnel. I aimed the beam of my flashlight toward the noise just in time to see a child-sized silhouette duck into an alcove further down. I quirked an eyebrow. Perhaps there was someone else down here after all.

"Hello?" I called out to the figure. Nothing. Cocking my head, I strode further down the tunnel. A couple shrill beeps came from the compass in my pocket. Digging it out, I noticed that the needle was pointing behind me. Ignoring it, I continued onward. My pace slowed as I drew nearer to the alcove behind which I had seen the figure duck. Questions had begun to scurry around inside my head. If this was indeed another person, why hadn't I heard them approach? And what were they doing wandering around down here without a flashlight? Shoving these thoughts to the back of my mind, I crept closer.

"It's okay," I said as I advanced upon the person's hiding spot, "you don't have to hide. If you're lost, I can-" Here I reached the alcove, and shone my light on it. The last part of my sentence died before it breached my lips.

The alcove was empty.

Confused and a bit unnerved, I stared into the empty space before me. Aside from one angry rat that scampered off as soon as the beam from my flashlight illuminated it, there was nothing in that space. I frowned. I knew I saw someone duck into that alcove. There was no way that had been a trick of the light, or rather trick of the shadows as it were. My heart had begun to slam against my ribs, pounding with the intensity of a subwoofer cranked all the way up.

Had I just seen a ghost?

I let the thought sink into my mind like a stone into a pond. Icy ripples spread out in all directions, disrupting my mind's calm exterior. Images breached the surface, flashing across my mental field of vision, images of that small figure standing in the exact place I was now, just out of the flashlight's reach, staring at me, watching me, assessing me. Using the darkness to draw closer, only to jerk back when the light danced back towards it. Why had it been watching me? How long had it been there? And furthermore, why hadn't the compass detected it?

Thin, cool tendrils of anxiety crawled down my back, threading through my spine like a second set of nerves, sending out chills instead of impulses. Taking a deep breath, I curled my hands into fists and told myself to calm down. So the compass hadn't picked up on its energy reading, no surprise-the device was designed to detect _malevolent_ energy, perhaps what I saw hadn't intended to do me any harm. So I had seen a ghost, so what? I had much more pressing matters to worry about than a curious spirit. Reaching into my pocket, I brought out the compass and sure enough, the needle continued to point back towards the right-hand tunnel. Seeing no reason to dwell in that area and unnerve myself further, I followed the object's advice, turned back and followed the branching path.

Slithering deeper into Paris' underbelly, this tunnel was a bit narrower and unlike the first one, had a multitude of paths branching off every few feet. Rats scurried in and out of these passages, some darting through small holes in the walls while others clambered up the covering of bones. One regarded me as I passed, its tail lying in an eye-socket like some furry worm. This brought my mind back a few moments to the situation with the alcove. Had I seen a rat instead? A rat had indeed rushed out the moment I shone my flashlight in that area. However, the possibility that I had seen a rat instead of a person didn't fit. The figure I saw had looked to be around Hiei's height. Plus there was the problem of the rock. If that had indeed been the same rock I had kicked down the tunnel, there was no way a rat could have thrown it back. I chuckled. Why was this bothering me so much? It wasn't like I hadn't encountered spirits before. Then again, I was in familiar territory during those encounters, not miles away from home, wandering through the bowels of an alien city. Talk about being out of your element. Sighing, I put my trepidations on hold and continued walking. East or west, ghosts were still ghosts. I could handle simple specters.

As I walked, the smell of damp stone began to overtake the scent of aged bones. I rounded a bend and was greeted to the wonderful sight of a partially flooded tunnel. Slimy, gray water covered a large section of the floor, looking to be about ankle deep. Small eddies twirled as insects paddled the surface. I groaned. So much for not having to trek through water. Steeling myself, I launched forward, clenching my teeth as the cold water lapped over my foot and into my shoe. I could feel thin layers of sludge squish between my toes and I fought the urge to gag as I waded through the stagnant pool.

Trudging ever onward, I tried to move as swift as possible. However, this proved rather difficult for not only was the liquid so thick it felt like trying to walk through watered down concrete mix, I kept tripping over submerged rocks and even managed to step on a rat's tail. By this time I had begun to notice the smell clinging to the water: a disgusting mixture of rot, mold, and rodent droppings swaddled within the thin wrapping of wet scent. I cursed my fate and kept going. Of all the people he could have chosen, why did Koenma pick me? Grimacing, I rounded another corner, kicking up more nasty water as I did so. Apparently, I splashed a rat because I heard a sharp series of chitters and looked up just in time to see something swim off into the darkness. Rolling my eyes, I kept walking, telling myself this water-logged tunnel had to run dry sometime soon. A sudden splash up ahead caught my attention. I shone my light down the corridor to find something cracked and round lying in the water. Curious, I strode forward and picked up the object. Two black eyes glared back at me over a broken nose hole and a set of smashed teeth. Small rivulets of liquid putrescence streamed down the bone while a water-logged cockroach carcass slipped off the top of the skull, landing with a greasy plop into the gunk lapping over my feet. Disgusted, I placed the skull back down. Bubbles burbled upon the surface as water rushed back in to once more drown any dry crevice it could find.

As I stood up, I glanced at the walls and ceiling, trying to find the spot where the skull had been originally placed. Sure enough, directly above and just to the right of me sat a gaping hole about the size of a human head. Not surprising that a bone had come loose. While well-constructed, this place was still rather old, centuries old in fact. I angled the light up into the hole and for the briefest of moments thought I saw a pair of eyes glittering at me in the dark. This assumption was debunked however, when I realized that the 'eyes' were nothing more than impurities in the limestone reflecting the light from my flashlight. I shook my head. One ghost sighting and now this place was getting to me. However, as I passed beneath the hole, my heart felt as if it had been dipped in a thin layer of ice. I got the strange impression that as I had passed beneath, something had glared at me. I turned and shone my flashlight up into the hole again, and saw nothing. I frowned, suppressing the shiver that tried to zip down my spine. What was up with me? Forcing myself to turn back around, I resumed my slogging through the wet tunnel. The feeling didn't leave. I tried to bury it.

Time slipped by. My feet were freezing and my socks stuck to them like a second set of skin. My shoes now made a nasty squelching sound each time I took a step. At this point I considered turning around, hightailing it back to Spirit World and hurling my wet socks right in Koenma's face. Something crunched inside my shoe. Groaning, I stopped, bracing one hand against the wall as I picked up my foot. Hooking one finger behind my heel, I slipped my shoe off and lo and behold a dead spider came flopping out. Okay, screw contemplating. I was definitely going to throw my wet socks in Koenma's face now. While I was slipping my shoe back on, going over how I was going to do such a thing, a sharp bolt of pain flashed through my hand, tearing me from my angry thoughts. I yanked my hand back from the wall and examined it under the flashlight. Scarlet blood smeared the webbing between my forefinger and thumb. I wiped the blood off and examined the wound. My heart plummeted into the pit of my stomach and my chest felt tight. Marring my skin were teeth marks, but not those of a rat or an insect. No, these were human teeth marks. Alternating waves of hot and cold washed over my body. I swallowed hard. That creepy feeling had resurfaced, stronger. Now, instead of a thin coating, it felt as if a blade of ice had pierced my heart, its run off slush creeping through my veins, freezing my whole body. Every instinct screamed at me to move, and so I did. As I walked, I tried not to think about what had just happened. By this time, I could head another sound, just beneath the splashing of my feet. It would start off barely audible, rise to a half crescendo, then fade back to where I could only just make it out. It echoed all around me, and it took me a moment to figure out exactly what I was hearing: voices. Small whispers slithered out of the shadows and into my ears. Snatches of phrases like:

 _"…dark…"_

 _"I could…couldn't…-way…"_

 _"…so cold…"_

 _"…-thing hurts…"_

The voices swirled around me, like some intangible storm cloud. A draft had kicked up, a foul-smelling, cold, wet draft that blew rhythmically on the back of my neck. Whoosh, then still. Whoosh, then still-almost like breathing. The hairs on the back of my neck stood ramrod straight. The feeling os being watched resurfaced, stronger this time. I could feel a presence with me in that tunnel; heavy and thick, like a wet quilt, it pressed down on me. My imagination went into overdrive, conjuring pictures of a deformed, bone-white, many-fanged horror standing right behind me. I sped up, fighting the overwhelming urge to run. Around my feet, the amount of water began to lessen, just barely reaching the arch of my foot as opposed to lapping over into my shoe. A tiny flame of relief sparked to life, but was quashed just as soon when from behind me came two very distinct splashes. The thin thread of calm I'd had up till that point snapped and I sprinted down the tunnel. I ran until the only sounds I could hear were my ragged breathing and the squishing of my water-logged shoes. The ground beneath my feet was now dry and the tunnel had fallen silent. Taking a deep breath and turning around, I shone my flashlight down the corridor behind me. Nothing but bones, darkness, and the slight shimmer of that putrid water that I had just trekked through. I glanced at the compass. Aside from a brighter glow from the red eye (indicating I was getting closer to the Maneki Neko), the arrow kept pointing me further down.

Had I imagined the whole thing? A mild jolt of pain went through my hand. While it had stopped bleeding, the bite wound was tinged a hot red. My skin burned with pain every time I stretched my thumb. I looked closer, and just as I had thought, the bite marks belonged to human teeth. No, I hadn't imagined all of that. That wound confirmed it. I glowered at the Spirit World device. This blasted thing had been designed to detect spiritual energy, malevolent energy in particular, why the hell hadn't it picked up anything back in that tunnel? Voices, breathing, something had bitten me, but the arrow hadn't moved. I cursed and brought out the Communication Mirror. Koenma had to be notified that despite his assertions, the device he'd given me had proved faulty after all. I flipped open the mirror, ready to give the prince of Spirit World a piece of my mind. The screen flashed, but instead of Koenma's face, it showed a wall of static. Pressing the buttons was futile as the only response I received was the buzzing drone of the static. This was unusual. For a moment, I considered that I might be out of range, but that didn't make sense. Considering the device was designed to communicate between two planes of existence, a few thousand miles in the human world shouldn't have made that much of a difference. After a couple more failed attempts to reach somebody, I stowed the device in my pocket. I stood there, in the dark, glancing left and right, listening to the cold silence. What was I going to do now? I considered continuing my search, but thought against it. If the compass couldn't detect malevolent energy nearby, how could I be sure that it was able to detect the Maneki Neko? Yes, the eye was glowing brighter, but all other strange things considered, I couldn't be sure if that's what it was trying to lead me to. Besides, I was getting rather unnerved. Now, I know being afraid is no good reason to abort a mission, but the idea of being stuck in the catacombs with a faulty compass and dead Communication Mirror was frightening in and of itself. Just the thought of wandering around in circles while not being able to call for help didn't sit well with me.

I reached around behind me, finding the zipper on the outer-most pocket of my back-pack, fumbling for Shakyamuni's Thread. A couple seconds of blind groping later, I found the thread. With one hand, I unwound it from the zipper and clutched it tightly in my fist. The dim, pastel pearl light given off by the thread was a small comfort. Given the paranormal occurrences, I had half expected to find it gone. Gripping the thread, I stared at the path that led back to the surface. Just thinking about trudging back through that tunnel and getting my feet wet all over again made me cringe. There was also a lingering fear that whatever had been following me was still there. I took a deep breath and asked myself which was worse, walking back down the corridor and dealing with something that may or may not be there, or keep going with broken equipment and deal with something worse? The decision was obvious. I turned my back on the mission and made up my mind to go home.

Before I could begin walking back, something heavy slammed into my back, knocking me to the ground. My flashlight flew from my hand, striking the ground with a sharp crack where it sputtered and died. Like a starved wolf, the darkness pounced on me. Save for the thin strand of glowing white still clutched in my hand, my world had gone pitch black. From behind me, I heard a series of scraping sounds, like someone was dragging a handful of nails along the stone floor. I tried to scramble to my feet, but again was struck on the back and went sprawling to the floor. The scraping sounds were getting closer. My heart jackknifed into my throat when I felt a pair of cold, bony hands, tipped with claws clamp down on my ankles and begin to drag me down the tunnel at an alarming pace. I clawed at the ground, desperate to break free, watching my life line drift farther and farther away. Then, in a flash of insight, I remembered my rose whip. With a surge of spirit energy, I manipulated the bud, unleashing my weapon and snaking it out from behind my curtain of hair. Not knowing where to aim, I commanded the whip to lash both above and behind me. The impact of thorns striking something shuddered through the whip and up to my neck. A sharp squeal assailed my ears and the hands let go.

I didn't waste a second. Lightning-fast, I pushed myself to my feet and bolted down the tunnel. The thing that had grabbed me let out a screech and that horrid scraping sound resumed, this time accompanied by heavy footsteps. I fixed my eyes on the thread and poured on the speed, not bothering to stop and pick up the loose end. Once more, cold, sour water soaked into my shoe, but I paid it no mind as loud splashing came from behind me. I kept running, the fighting against the thick, wet ooze that sucked at my feet. Back beneath the hole, past the fallen skull and then onto dry ground, I kept running. White hot pain seared my sides, each ragged breath I took in felt like shards of glass, shredding my windpipe, and my calves ached with every step. A wave of cold air stirred my hair and I urged myself to run faster. Quickened thumps told me my pursuer had the same idea.

I kept my gaze locked onto the pale, glittering light of the thread. My tiny saving grace, my only salvation. My flashlight had died, communication was cut off, and the compass was probably a dud. Now, like Shakyamuni himself, my salvation lay with this thin, feeble spider's thread. My foot struck a piece of stone, causing me to stumble. Thankfully, I managed to regain my balance and kept going. Every ounce of my body screamed at me to stop, but the memory of being drug back into the darkness kept me from obeying. Something whistled and I felt the straps of the back-pack part as it slipped from my shoulders and fell to the ground. I began to pray, begging whatever gods were listening to let me get out of this subterranean hell alive.

My prayers were answered. The path of the thin, dim light rose off the ground, and within it I could just make out the outline of the bottom rung of a ladder. Never before have I been so filled with joy and relief. My strength felt renewed and I ran a few more steps before leaping through the air, never taking my eyes off that outline. I hit the ladder hard, causing it to shudder and jump. For a split second, I was afraid the impact would cause the structure to give way. It held, and I scrambled up the ladder. Using my shoulder as a battering ram, I smacked the manhole cover, urging my exhausted body to shove the heavy piece of metal. The cover slipped from my shoulder and the loud clang of thick metal hitting concrete met my ears. Early morning sunlight shot down into the upper layers of shadow. Beams of dusty saffron tinted the thick black a light brown. I placed my hand the lip of the opening, marveling at how wonderful the abrasive scratch of concrete felt against my palm. Without a second thought, I pulled with all my might. I was almost giddy with relief. I was going to get out of here, I was really going to live.

That's when I felt the iron grip clamp down on my ankle. Terror shot through my body and I yelped, flailing my leg around until I finally remembered how to kick and rocketed my foot down in the direction I thought the hand's owner was. My heel struck what I assume was a face, or at the very least a head. It felt like stepping on a canvas bag full of rotten meat, everything squishing and shifting beneath the sudden pressure of my foot. Just like before, the hand let go and I once more began to pull myself up, surfacing from this ebon river of death. Within seconds I had hauled myself up and rolled out into the alley. I don't know long I laid there, panting, wheezing, and feeling ready to vomit from running so much. When I'd recovered enough of my strength, I crawled over to the manhole and peered down inside. Whether the sunlight couldn't penetrate far enough, or the thing had already left, I'm not sure. All I know is that the only thing I could see was an unfathomable, endless pool of black. Out in the street, I could hear car horns, people talking and the occasional dog bark. All around me, the city of Paris was greeting yet another normal morning. It felt strange that, as I knelt in front of this gaping maw to hell on earth, the city simply carried on, as if the catacombs didn't exist. In the end, I gave up trying to reconcile this and left Paris.

Looking back on the incident, there are a few things I have trouble explaining, specifically the malfunctioning spirit world items. No matter how hard I try, I can't come up with an explanation for why the Communication Mirror couldn't reach Spirit World or whether or not the compass was actually leading me to the fruit of my mission. The Maneki Neko was there, of that I have no doubt. Koenma wouldn't be the type to send me on a wild goose chase. As near as I can figure out, both devices were being manipulated by the multiple malevolent presences lurking in the catacombs. Unlikely, but it's the only working theory I have. Which, if true, is a little frightening. Compass aside, there's no way for any spiritual energy to be able to block communication to Spirit World; that mirror is fool-proof. Then again, it's never been used outside of Japan before which leads me to believe that Spirit World's jurisdiction is smaller than they claim it to be-at least as far as the human world is concerned. And that is a very chilling thought.

* * *

 **Holy God, we're finally at the end! This took me way longer to finish than I would have liked, but…well, classes kind of got in the way. Sorry about that. At any rate, what did you think? Like I said, I would love to hear some feedback. Was it good, bad, so-so? Let me know! And, as always, thanks for reading!**


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